


Sherlock's Troubles

by isabelpenafiel03



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drugs, Other, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 11:15:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7047412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isabelpenafiel03/pseuds/isabelpenafiel03
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock tried to distract himself from his thoughts but it doesn't work</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock's Troubles

Blood dribbles down his cheek, he feels pain but it is distant. A light smile plays on his face, it's going to be over soon anyway. Sherlock slumped forward, his dark hair brushing his forehead. He promised Molly he wouldn't do this but, he lost control. The tourniquet was still tight on his arm, the needle still dangling from his pale flesh.  
Lestrade would be disappointed seeing he assisted Sherlock in his recovery. Sherlock didn't care though...no... couldn't care. His brother's words rang in his head "Caring is not an advantage." Sherlock knew one day it would come to this but he had been hopeful that it would be later on.  
The door creaked open and Sherlock barely looked up. John walked into the room to find Sherlock limp in his chair blood finding it's way down his chin. John was mortified. He pulled out his phone and dialed for the police, he hears a female voice on the other line.   
"122 what's your emergency?" As he begins to speak he realizes the actuality of the situation, he feels his throat begin to close.  
"My friend has been clean awhile but, overdosed." John choked out.  
"What's your address?" Inquiries the telephone operator.  
"221b baker street." John's palms begin to sweat, he wipes them on his jeans as he silently curses Sherlock for being so stupid.  
John hears sirens in the distance. A moment later John is following the paramedics out to the street. They had loaded Sherlock onto the stretcher.  
"Your friend is probably going to be in the hospital for a while, you should probably pack some clothing." Suggested one of the paramedics. John nodded. Sherlock is pale as death but he smiles. Sherlock begins humming the song he was composing to try to forget his troubles. It hadn't worked.  
John trudges up the stairs until he reaches the flat's door. He opened it slowly, and warily approached Sherlock's room. His fingers brushed against the cool brass doorknob. Going inside even just for clothing seemed wrong, like he was invading Sherlock's privacy.   
When John finally gathered the necessary amount of courage to enter he creaked the door open. Sherlock's room is neat aside from his sock drawer which had been rummaged through.  
No one besides Sherlock has been in here so John assumes it was him that had rummaged through it. The reason he had was quite obvious however John pushes to the back of his mind refusing to think of it.   
Quickly he packed a few outfits for Sherlock's hospital stay then, leaves the apartment quickly. He gets out to the street and hails a cab. He shoves the suit case in the back and silently assumes a seat in the back of the cab.  
"Where to?" Inquiries the taxi driver.  
"Hospital." Says John. The taxi driver looked back to see a sturdy blond man riddled with guilt. He was curious but knew not to ask questions.  
John felt awful, he knew he could've helped but instead was frozen. He feels as if his ribs are caving in.. He knew it was just his panic but that didn't make it any better, he feels as if he's going to hurl.  
The taxi stops and John is immediately relieved. He throws the contents of his wallet to the taxi driver not even bothering to count. Soon he has Sherlock's bag and he's sprinting to the hospital. They wanted to know what Sherlock took to further his treatment.  
" Cocaine." John says. He knows, he always knows. "My friend....Sherlock....where is he?" John panted. The nurse gives directions but John barely notices. John rushes to Sherlock's room and it appears he is his first visitor.   
Sherlock's head is bowed, his hair covering his eyes but, you can see his drunken smile.   
"Hello John." He murmurs  
"Sherlock." John whispers, he feels hot tears welling up in his eyes. "Why? Tell me why." John demands.  
"Huh?" Sherlock asks finally looking up at John, his face pale his eyes bloodshot. Sherlock tried to make his voice sound as if he simply did not care like he usually did but his vocal cords betrayed him and his voice quivered.   
He sounded, weak, pathetic, he sounded like himself. John obviously saw through his facade and when John glares over looking for answers Sherlock decides to be honest.  
"I-I didn't do it because I was bored....." Sherlock Swallowed hard, "I did it b-because I was done.” John chokes and makes a strange gargling noise. Though Sherlock did not state it directly John understood.  
"How did life get so bad so quickly that you'd want that?" John whimpered  
"It's been building up for years now. It started with little things like children calling me 'freak' but got worse." Sherlock looked at his shoes, a single tear falls. "That's when I realized the drugs made me feel normal. It made it better. Until it wasn't enough anymore."   
John finds himself thinking back to every little insult. John had admired the way Sherlock shrugged of their harsh words but now he saw a different story, a broken man with a lot of practice convincing others he was okay. He knew how wonderful Sherlock was once he was out of his shell, he didn't understand how he could feel so worthless but, then again if you're told something so often as he was you'd probably believe it too.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, I'm new to this!


End file.
